


Trapped in Miami

by AndersAndrew, futagogo



Series: Miami Rick and Morty [2]
Category: Pocket Mortys, Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass Play, Badass Morty, Blackmail, Canon-Typical Violence, Cowgirl Position, Creampie, Cum Swallowing, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Flavored Lube, Hotel Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Jealous Feelings, Jealousy, Kidnapping, M/M, Miami Morty with Braids, Missionary Position, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Multiple Sex Positions, Name-Calling, Non-Con/Rape Outside of Rick/Morty, One Shot, Pet Names, Posessive Sex, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rick calling Morty Baby, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Stripper Morty, Strong Morty, Sweet/Hot, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Underage - Freeform, Voyeurism, Wall Sex, cum as lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 12:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9235034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndersAndrew/pseuds/AndersAndrew, https://archiveofourown.org/users/futagogo/pseuds/futagogo
Summary: Rick and Morty are out to blackmail an aging senator, and Morty has to seduce him as part of the scheme. Unfortunately, things don’t go exactly as planned...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Traquenard à Miami](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8528152) by [AndersAndrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndersAndrew/pseuds/AndersAndrew). 



> Translation by [futagogo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/futagogo).
> 
> From the original author:  
> This time, I recommend [this fanart](http://dumbfukinrat.tumblr.com/post/153027802568/miami-baby) which is totally SFW (unlike this fic.)
> 
> You don’t have to have read [Far from Miami](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8816836) in order to enjoy this story.
> 
> Once again, Morty is a stripper. Therefore, he is technically of legal age. Nevertheless, I do use the term "teenager" (which can be used to describe someone up until 20 years old,) though his age is never specified. Hence, why I used the tag Underage - Freeform.

Senator Gene Vagina led a decent life. Formerly a mere high school principal, he had become one of the founding leaders of Headism during the Great Upheaval, and his popularity as well as the rise of the religious movement eventually gained him a seat in Congress. Now he was living in the lap of luxury, complete with gold Rolex, his own personal limo driver, and trophy wife.

But all the luxury in the world couldn’t cure him of his one small vice: gambling. He wasn’t what anyone would call an addict, and he knew how to keep within his means. It was a hobby more than anything else, and as long as The Giant Head in the Sky didn’t forbid it, then he could indulge himself without too much guilt.

  
That evening, even though he was already down a few grand at the roulette wheel, he kept going, convinced that his luck would turn around.

That’s when he noticed the boy watching him from across the table, a lollipop nestled between his lips. There was an androgynous air about him, and though his outfit screamed _prostitute,_  he didn’t turn many heads. After all, the Miami casino's dress code was already on the lax side. Still, Gene wondered if the boy was there as someone’s escort. He was far too young to have the means to afford his own entry, and it was easy to assume that he’d likely done something not very “Catholic”—to put it mildly—in order to get in. Watching him tongue suggestively at the sugary treat left no doubt in Gene’s mind as to what carnal sins the boy had committed. What was worse was that just entertaining the thought was quickly leading Gene’s imagination down more scandalous paths.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the game, but he kept losing round after round. He muttered a curse under his breath, immediately berating himself— _What if The Giant Head in the Sky heard me?_ —when he startled at the sudden hand on his arm.

His head whipped around to find the boy hanging on his elbow, a playful grin on his face. So close to him now, Gene could make out the gold body glitter that accentuated his tan and the youthful curve of his cheeks. His long, two-tone blond hair was held back by a turquoise bandanna, and Gene could already imagine himself tearing it off to grab the boy’s mane as he fucked him from behind like a two-bit whore.

With the boy on his arm, the senator didn’t dare move, suddenly feeling as if every eye in the room were on him. Even the dealer shot him a loaded glance when he asked the players for their bets. Gene didn’t want to lose, especially with the new attention he was getting, but he was paralyzed.

"My favorite number is seven," the teen whispered in his ear.

Gene swallowed, pushing his stacks of chips onto the number seven square. It was nearly his entire earnings so far. If he lost, then he would stop, he told himself. It would kill him to see such a large sum go, but he knew he couldn’t afford to risk any more.

"All bets are in!” announced the dealer. Then he threw the ball. "Let the game begin."

The senator stole a look at the boy by his side; he seemed mesmerized by the erratic dance of the ivory ball. It bounced one last time against the metal edge of one of the pockets in its mad rush before finally stopping. Gene’s eyes went wide.

"Seven, red, odd!" The dealer’s exclamation almost made the senator jump out of his skin.

He grabbed hungrily at his winnings, and when he glanced down at the teenager, he was smiling mischievously at him, his pink sunglasses pushed up onto his forehead.

"So what are you gonna do with all that money? You wanna celebrate?” he asked, gently caressing the old man’s thigh.

Gene succumbed to the teen’s thrall so swiftly, he didn’t even have time to heed the little voice in his head warning him that this was not a good idea.

 

They wasted no time the moment they crossed the hotel room’s threshold. The boy threw himself eagerly at Gene’s lips as the senator rid himself of his cumbersome garments in a flurry. With only his dress shirt on, prick peeking out from beneath his flabby girth, Gene strode over to the young man who was now reclining sumptuously on the bed and proceeded to strip off his fur coat, mini-top, and pink bikini bottom. All that remained were his platform shoes which he held aloft for Gene to remove. Gene struggled with the buckles for a moment before finally slipping them off to reveal small, dainty feet with toenails painted every color of the rainbow. The senator kissed each one of them, slowly making his way up the slender leg to claim his mouth.

Without warning, the teenager grabbed his cock and moaned lustfully into the kiss, sending a bolt of excitement down to Gene's groin. Gene braced his full weight over the boy in an unquestionable show of domination, and the latter quickly wrapped his slim legs around Gene’s waist and shuddered a sigh. His blond hair fanned out over the pillow and formed a halo around his cherubic face, amplifying his seductive allure. The old senator seized his own sex and guided it between the spread thighs, groping blindly until he found the opening, as the boy’s prick swelled in anticipation.

His hole welcomed him in without resistance, and Gene noted with pleasure that the young prostitute had thoughtfully lubricated himself ahead of time to accommodate him. He rushed inside with a groan of raw pleasure, crushing the teenager beneath him. When his ball sac was finally flush with his lover’s ass, he began to pant: “Oh, that's it… You're so good... By the Heavenly Head, you feel incredible!”

The boy stroked his neck and whispered, “You can call me names if you want. I know you do.”

Gene stared bug-eyed at him.

The adolescent's wicked smile only widened. "I like it rough," he added like a confession.

It was then that the senator's self-control abandoned him, utterly and completely.

 

"Dirty, little whore! You like that, huh? Tell me how much you love my cock!"

“Oh, yeah! Oh, ohhh! Aah!”

The wet slapping of flesh on flesh sped up, and Rick grimaced as he lowered the volume on the mic. He grabbed the binoculars to peer in through the window of the room where Morty and Senator Vagina were currently fucking like animals. He was holed up in the building across the street with all the recording equipment he needed for his latest con. The screens displayed the inside of the room, thanks to cameras hidden on site, but the image was much clearer through the digital binoculars he’d designed himself. He could see Morty on all fours on the bed being mounted from behind by fat, old Gene Vagina, who was only wearing a shirt and fucking him as fast as he could, red as a tomato and huffing like an ox.

Bile rose in Rick’s throat at the sight, and he nearly gagged. He managed to swallow it down, however, and checked that the sound and video were recording accurately. This would provide more than enough material to blackmail Senator Assface—Rick’s personal opinion of the man—which was exactly why Morty had agreed to shag him in the first place. It shouldn’t have bothered Rick, but he couldn’t help feeling a touch of jealousy. After all, he didn’t like it when people played with his things.

"You slut!" roared the senator, frantically pounding Morty's ass. “You like that, huh? So young and already selling yourself. You must love it, you dirty whore!”

"Ah! AH! Yes! Yessss!" Morty squealed as part of the charade, his tone too shrill to be sincere. “It's so good! I love it! Oh, yes! YES!”

Morty had to fake it. Although he was obviously enjoying himself, Vagina wasn’t good enough to make him really scream. Morty only did it to excite the senator; and it was working, judging by the orgasm that overtook the old man soon enough. Unfortunately—or, rather, fortunately—it took more for Morty to cum. When Vagina collapsed onto the bed, Morty stroked his flagging penis, quickly taking it in his mouth.

Rick ground his teeth as he watched Morty suck off the senator. He wished Morty were that devoted to his cock instead.

Once the senator's dick was hard again, Morty turned around and began to ride him reverse cowboy style. Rick could see Morty’s face now. His features were screwed up in ecstasy, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his cheeks flushed red. He was biting his lip to keep from losing himself too quickly in the throes of sex.

Rick loved seeing him like that, but only when _he_ was responsible for it.

The pleasure finally pushed Morty over the edge, and hot spunk shot out to stain the sheets and tops of his thighs.

Behind him, the senator grabbed his waist and flipped over onto his knees to continue driving into Morty’s limp form which was now ravaged by orgasm and fatigue. After the old man finally reached seventh heaven again, he let himself flop back onto the bed, limbs splayed out like a shameless starfish.

After giving himself a few seconds to catch his breath, Morty slipped the spent cock out of his ass. He crept on all fours across the bed and began picking up his clothes.

"Leaving so soon?" mumbled Gene.

“Yeah. It was fun while it lasted, but it’s almost midnight," Morty said. “Besides, I have better things to do.”

Rick smiled. His brave, little Morty always did have a way with words.

When Morty shrugged on his coat, he took a moment to count the senator's payment. It was proving to be a lucrative night, he mused. He left the room without another word.

Rick leaned out the window to track Morty’s departure from the hotel with his binoculars. Morty appeared on the sidewalk a few minutes later, giving a thumb’s up in his direction.

The scientist shut the blinds with a dry snap, plunging the room into darkness. It was barren save for the surveillance equipment, so he sat down on the floor by the wall outlet. An uncomfortable feeling itched in his chest. In an effort to quell it, he drew his flask from his pastel pink jacket and took a swig. Then he slipped a toothpick between his teeth and promptly began gnawing on it.

Soon the door before him opened and in stepped Morty. "How'd I do?" Morty asked, by way of greeting. He glanced at the security footage showing the senator in the shower—a frightening sight for the faint of heart which, thankfully, Morty was anything but.

"You were—uurp—perfect. As usual," Rick muttered, rolling the toothpick around in his mouth.

"So? Did you enjoy the show?" the young man asked, leaning against the stacked monitors and striking a seductive pose that highlighted his long, bronzed legs.

His grandfather scowled, averting his eyes. The little bastard knew all too well the effect he had on people. Sometimes Rick wondered if he really meant anything to Morty or if he was just another quick lay. The only time they had actually talked about their feelings, Rick had been so smashed that the details were getting harder and harder to recall as time passed. Rick knew how easily he could let himself be manipulated, let himself fall in with this cocky, little upstart. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had used his own emotions against him. And probably not the last.

Rick stood up, suddenly much too sober for his liking. All this self-reflection only reminded him why he preferred to be drunk most of the time.

"What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Morty purred as he approached Rick and laid a hand on his chest. “Then again, we don’t even have to talk.”

He hooked two fingers over Rick's belt. When Rick finally looked at him, he cocked an eyebrow. “Haven’t you had enouAUGHgh already?”

"But it wasn’t with you..." Morty murmured, blushing and perching his sunglasses on his forehead to gaze longingly at Rick with his big, green eyes.

Rick spat out the toothpick and captured Morty's lips with his own, holding his small face between his large, gnarled hands.

Morty moaned against his tongue and arched into him, hungry for physical contact. "I want you," he gasped. “R-Rick, I...I want you right now.”

"Why didn't you say so sooner, my treasure?”

Rick pressed him against the wall and lavished his throat with kisses. Morty threw his head back, moaning with pleasure, burying his small hands in the mass of blue hair belonging to his mad-scientist grandfather. Rick then grabbed Morty under his thighs and propped him up against the cheap wallpaper.

Morty sighed indulgently and lassoed Rick's waist with his ankles. A carnivorous smile curled his lips, and he yanked his pink bikini bottoms down to expose his buttocks.

Rick grabbed his ass cheeks eagerly, sliding a finger across his hole. As he expected, it was still slick, and he growled against Morty's ear, "You could’ve at least made him wear a condom." It wasn’t the first time he’d scolded the boy on the subject of sexual hygiene.

Morty just sighed as he ground his crotch against Rick lewdly. “But I like it without. Besides, he was too excited to roll one on.”

Rick unzipped his fly and wrestled his stiff cock out. “Then I'll just have to give it to you d-deep, MoEUUURGHty. So deep that your sweet, little ass remembers who it belongs to.”

The teenager shuddered against him, his rock-hard sex trapped between their bellies as they embraced. "Oh, Rick!" Morty keened, closing his eyes when the head of Rick’s cock breached his wet and still sensitive hole.

Youth made Morty horny and insatiable. He loved to fuck—especially with the one man he wanted the most.

Then Rick began to push in, gradually making his way inside. He felt Morty pulsing around his intruding member, and he knew that the young man was loving every inch of him. He was bigger around and much longer than Senator Vagina, and this was why Morty always came back to him in the end: He was the best lay he’d ever have.

“Oh! OH! Rick! Riiiick! Ah!”

"That’s good, Morty," Rick breathed, caressing his back. “You take the whole thing like a pro now. Hnnnn, so tight... Like a fuckin’ sheath for my cock.”

The young man clenched his muscles as Rick thrust into him over and over, driving him into the wall. Possessiveness blinded his senses, and he was suddenly overcome with a desire to dominate Morty, prove to him that he was his one and only master.

Unable even to draw a proper breath during his wild bucking, Rick gave one final thrust and let his orgasm engulf him, filling Morty with his seed.

Within seconds, his arms began to tremble beneath the effort of holding him up. Morty may not have been that heavy, but Rick’s muscles weren’t what they used to be.

The young man stepped down onto his feet gingerly, semen oozing down the inside of his thigh. "Ah, man. It's getting everywhere," Morty grumbled as he tried to wipe himself clean.

Rick held him by the wrist. “Serves you right for not making him wear a rubber,” Rick seethed. “You know how this shit works, so don’t bitch to me about getting the runs now.”

Vexed and embarrassed, Morty shot him a glare. “Wow. Really classy, Rick!”

“At your service.”

"Ugh! Whatever! J-just...fuck off!" Morty stammered angrily.

Rick grinned. “What do you think I just did, MoEURGHty? Thought the jizz dripping down your—URP—leg would be a dead giveaway.”

Visibly shocked by his words but determined not to let it show, Morty pulled up his bikini bottom and wrapped himself in his coat, his expression pained. "Whatever. If we’re done here, I'm going home."

“That's right, Morty. Now that I got my dick wet, you can go,” Rick spat, turning his back. He heard Morty stifle a sob.

Fine. So he’d been a little—more like very—harsh. He hadn't even really meant any of it, but he didn’t want to think about that now. He just wanted to focus on the money he was going to extort from that douchebag Gene Vagina for daring to touch his grandson.

Rick gritted his teeth as the door slammed shut behind him.

He missed Morty already and hated himself for that.

Rick, being a Rick, was still an asshole, and he refused to acknowledge that what had happened affected him the way it did. The fact that they fucked didn’t change their relationship, so why should Rick be any nicer to Morty? Sure, they’d shared tender words in the heat of the moment, but Morty should’ve known better than anyone that sex could make you say just about anything.

 

Morty loved sex with Rick. But the problem was that he liked doing it with him more than with anyone else. It had become so incredibly addictive that he was always craving it. He loved when Rick called him "baby" and "my treasure" while he rammed his ass. He loved Rick’s kisses and the way he dug his fingers into Morty’s hips as if he wanted to make his mark on him.

He loved the size of Rick’s cock, how it filled him up inside perfectly, as if Morty were made to take it up the ass and love every minute of it. The notion was simultaneously embarrassing and oddly comforting. Embarrassing because it made him feel like an object. Comforting because it also meant that he had a place in the universe. He wasn’t just another Morty.

He was his Rick’s Morty. His only one.

All he wanted was for Rick to treat him like it. But no matter how hard Morty tried to win his heart, Rick refused to give in, doggedly staying just out of reach without a shred of so-called “sentimentality.”

It was take it or leave it. And Morty wasn’t ready to leave it.

Preoccupied in the mire of his own worries, Morty didn’t notice the black van as it pulled to a stop right beside him. In the next instant, masked men jumped out and nabbed him. He struggled and tried to scream, but his cries were quickly muffled by strong hands clamped over his mouth. Then they pulled him inside and were gone.

 

Rick’s cell phone rang, and he could immediately tell from the ringtone—the sax solo from Gerry Rafferty’s "Baker Street"— who it was. On the third ring, he picked up with a satisfied grin.

“Good. All done—UUUURP—having your little temper tantrum? You really are a whiny, little bitch, Moeuuurghty, ya know that? Always getting your panties in a fucking knot.”

“We've got your grandson, Sanchez.” The gruff voice on the other end of the line was clearly not Morty’s. Rick froze.

“Who is this? Cortez? Santiago? Cassidy? Which one of those bastards do you work for?”

“It doesn’t matt—”

“Britney Spears?”

"It doesn’t matter!" repeated the kidnapper, annoyed. “All you need to know is that we have the kid, and if you want him back in one piece—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know the drill. You think you're the first moron to pull this shit on me? Put him on the phone so I know he’s alive. Otherwise, no deal.”

"Yowch!" Morty yelped into the receiver as a strip of tape was torn off his mouth.

"Did they do anything to you?" Rick asked, trying to sound calm despite the lump of dread that was forming in his throat.

"N-no. I’m okay," Morty said quickly.

“In that case, put the other guy back on.”

“That’s it? I’m kidnapped, and that's all you have to say? You bast—!”

“Meet us in Liberty City and bring the money. I'll text you the address now. And you better come alone.”

"Wow. Real original," scoffed Rick. The mystery man on the other end started to reply, but Rick hung up before he could.

They might’ve had Morty, but at least they weren’t going to do anything to him. He wasn’t really worried—well, not that much. Morty knew how to handle himself in tough situations. He’d gotten out of worse scrapes before during their space adventures.

Contending with a local drug cartel would be a walk in the park.

But first things first. Rick had to come up with a plan to make these bastards pay and restore the natural order of things: You don’t fuck with Rick Sanchez if you wanna keep your head.

Blood would be spilled tonight.

 

It was getting late, and the motley crew of kidnappers still hadn’t had dinner. Antonio drew the short straw and was sent out to pick up some food for the gang. He returned to the hideout with an enormous plastic bag of takeout and closed the door, grumbling.

“I didn’t have enough cash, so…” He froze in mid-sentence.

It was like he’d stepped onto the set of a porno. His cohorts—Diego, Rico, Jesus, and Alban—were standing in a circle around their hostage, pants down and dicks out, as the boy sucked them off in turn, a cock in each hand.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he barked.

"We're just having a little fun," replied Diego. “It was the kid’s idea, anyway.”

“He said,” Jesus gasped. “He said he was tired of old men, and...and...”

"C’mon, man. Have you _seen_ this sweet piece of ass?" Alban grunted, cramming more of his cock into the boy’s mouth.

Antonio swallowed, suddenly very thirsty. He looked at his cell phone lying by the takeout bag on the table. "We have an hour before he arrives. Finish...whatever the hell you’re doing and join me in the hangar.”

Ignoring the erection that had sprung up in response to the salacious peep-show, he grabbed a carton of french fries and went out to the large hangar where they had instructed Rick Sanchez to meet them.

He never even saw the knife until it was pressed against his jugular.

“I'm Mr. Meeseeks. Look at meeee!" the assailant announced in a disturbingly shrill voice.

A tall silhouette emerged from the shadows, and Antonio swallowed, his fries spilling all over the ground.

“Sanchez…”

The brilliant, criminal mad scientist wasn’t smiling. He gave a curt signal to Mr. Meeseeks who then pressed the blade even deeper into Antonio's neck.

The latter squeaked miserably. "H-he's inside," he confessed quickly, hoping it would save his life.

"That's not why I came," Sanchez said. “I want to know who you work for.”

“We never saw him! He only gave us the instructions and sent the cash through an intermediary. Please—”

“What intermediary?" Rick interrupted. “His name. Now.”

Antonio panicked. "It was a girl!" he cried. “A pretty little redhead. Pale. On the thin side. But when Benicio tried to cop a feel, she busted his nose real good, put him in the hospital!”

Rick narrowed his eyes. He knew of only one redhead who was capable of that. He swiped the screen of his phone, loaded his Instagram app, and flashed the image in Antonio’s face.

“This her?”

The screen showed a picture of Summer, striking a sexy pose on the beach.

“Th-that’s not her! Please, I don’t know anything. Let me go! I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear it! I didn’t lay a finger on your grandkid like the other guys—”

"What?!" Rick cut him off abruptly. “What did they do?”

“They said he wanted it. But, I swear, I didn’t touch him! Boys aren’t my thing!”

"Mess him up," Rick instructed Mr. Meeseeks before slipping away.

 

Jesus cocked his head. “Hey, guys. Did you hear something just now?”

"Great. Now Jesus is hearing voices!" Diego snorted, zipping up his fly.

"Soon he’ll be telling us that God’s talking to him," Alban chuckled, pinching some fries from the bag.

In the back of the room, Rico moaned as he enjoyed the boy’s mouth on his dick. Still on his knees, Morty slowly flicked open the switchblade he’d lifted from Diego's pocket earlier when the man was too busy fucking his mouth to pay any mind to his sticky fingers.

In the next second, he was plunging it into Rico's knee.

As Rico collapsed, Morty sprang to his feet, wiping the ejaculate from his chin. He brandished the bloody weapon in front of the other two men, eyes narrowed. His disheveled, blond hair falling over his face gave him a wild, manic look.

Jesus stumbled back in surprise, but Alban pulled a gun out of the bag and pointed it straight at Morty.

"Big mistake, niño," he said. “We were going to go easy on you, but now you leave us no choice.”

As he unfastened his fly, the door behind him swung open on silent hinges.

“We’re gonna tear you in two, and once we’re finished, we're gonna show what’s left of you to your precious abuelito. He won’t be riding so high and mighty after he sees what we can do.”

He gave a savage smile, a psychotic gleam in his eyes, and Morty recognized the symptoms immediately. This guy was high on Kalaxian Crystals, an alien drug not easily found on Earth.

Suddenly, a green beam of light burst from the darkness, striking Alban in the back. His eyes popped open, and he began to swell...until he literally exploded.

Diego screamed, as Jesus went white as a sheet and vomited on his shoes.

Rick's outline filled the doorway. He opened a portal and tossed the two stunned men in before they could react. Then he grabbed Rico by the collar—the man was thrashing and moaning, still holding his wounded knee—and mercilessly swung him into the vortex to join his cohorts. Once it blinked out of existence, he turned to Morty.

Morty let go of the knife, letting it clatter to the floor. Covered with blood and viscera, he threw himself into Rick’s embrace without a word.

 

They went straight home after that. Rick's ship had the useful feature of being able to transform into a car while they were on Earth, allowing the old man to drive his enormous pink Lincoln Continental, complete with multi-colored headlights.

Morty was lying across the back seat and trying to ignore the series of thumps coming from the trunk. He didn’t care enough to ask who or what it was.

Once they got home, Morty ran into the bathroom. Rick heard him flush the toilet several times, and as he passed through the hallway to his own room, he could hear Morty vomiting.

Luckily, Beth and Jerry were still at one of their bougie events aboard Jerry’s yacht. The last thing Rick wanted was them getting on his case right now. He wondered vaguely where Summer was, but he would have to worry about that later.

He put "Antonio" in his secret hiding place under the garage and then popped a ready-made dinner into the microwave. No doubt Morty would be hungry by the time he finished his shower. Except he never came downstairs, so Rick decided to come to him. There was no noise coming from the bathroom, so he knocked on Morty’s door. Cracking it open, he found Morty lying on his bed, his elephant-shaped lamp offering the only light in the room.

"Hey," he called softly.

The teen straightened up to a sitting position. “Hey.”

He was dressed in simple pajamas. Without makeup or platform shoes and his wet hair tied up in a loose bun, Morty no longer looked like the sex bomb who pole danced in a swimsuit and collected notches for his bedpost. He now looked like the helpless kid he was, and the revelation shocked Rick. He was always so quick to use Morty as a tool—his ever faithful and helpful minion—that he sometimes forgot that he was more than that. Beneath the sarcasm and the glitter, Morty was a troubled kid, unstable and insecure. Morty put on a convincing show, but his grandfather, the person closest to him, saw past the mask. He wasn’t fooled.

Rick sat down on the bed. "How’s it going, champ?" he mumbled awkwardly.

"Oh, stop. You sound like my dad, Rick. It’s grossing me out!”

Rick removed his sunglasses and directed his eyes to the ceiling. “I'm trying to be—UUUURP—nice to you, Morty. You look fuckin’ t-traumatized.”

"I'm not traumatized," Morty pouted, folding his arms.

"Please. I've never seen you wear aAUGHnything that actually covers your belly button piercing before," Rick pointed out.

The young man lowered his eyes. “Maybe th-that’s because I don’t always want to sleep in a Speedo on the beach, Rick! Maybe s-sometimes I just want to be left alone, to spend an evening watching TV, you know? L-like a normal person! Not g-get abducted by junkies who want you dead!”

Rick leaned over him. For once, his breath didn’t stink of alcohol. “But maybe you're not normal, Morty. You ever consider that?” Morty still had his head down, so Rick lifted his chin to look him in the eye. “Listen to me. I know you would love to have a happy life, where everyone’s your friend and there’s cuddles and rainbows. But life isn’t like that. Life’s a pile of shit, Morty, and sometimes you have to dig through that shit just to find food to survive.”

"I thought I found someone...someone special," Morty said, his eyes boring into him, “but I guess I was wrong.”

"I came to look for you, didn’t I?" Rick shot back, an uncharacteristic indignation flaring up within him.

"Ha! Only because it would’ve been too hard to explain to Mom if you hadn’t!" Morty snapped.

“Y-you think I did it just to keep from hurting your mom?!” Rick seethed, losing his temper.

"I think that if there’s any truth in the universe, it’s that Ricks don’t care about Mortys.”

“Oh, yeah? Is that what you really think?” Rick glared at him through his tinted lenses.

“Well, you sure act that way."

“You make it sound like I've never done a damn thing for you.”

Morty pulled away. “Give me one example, Rick. One example of something you did for me and me alone.”

There was a short pause, and then the old man answered soberly, “I took you out dancing.”

Taken by surprise, Morty felt himself blush. This time, there was no makeup to hide it. He looked away, butterflies stirring in the pit of his stomach.

Rick rested his hands on Morty’s shoulders. “I never wanted that to happen, Morty. I...I was reckless...I guess. In any case, it won’t happen again. I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you. You know I’ll keep my word on that.”

"Except that it's _you_ who hurts me," Morty countered in a miserable and unexpectedly resigned tone.

Rick grimaced. “Oh, cut the sentimental bullshit!” He bent down and claimed Morty’s mouth, biting his lower lip to catch his attention. "If I hurt you, it's only because you're stupid enough to stay with me."

The young man's lip quivered between his teeth before Rick finally let go. But when Morty tried to kiss him back, Rick stood up.

“You should eat," he said, pointing to the plate he’d brought in. “Even if you have no appetite now, you will laUURPter.”

But Rick had forgotten that his grandson was different from other Mortys: He always got what he wanted. Morty grabbed Rick by the collar of his blue shirt, pulled him close, and smashed his lips to his.

Rick gave in immediately, pressing his body flush against Morty's. A voice in his head scolded him for doing exactly what the little bastard wanted, but that didn’t stop him from ravishing Morty’s mouth with his tongue.

To his credit, Rick had enough sense not to venture beneath Morty's pajamas. After the rape, he didn’t know how the teen was feeling. Even if Morty hadn’t said a word about it, Rick knew what went down in the kidnappers' hideout.

He also knew that Morty didn’t even see it that way, nor did he want to. He’d accepted it as a sacrifice, a price to pay in order to get ahold of a weapon and defend himself. That didn't change the fact, though, that he'd been forced to do it.

Of course, Rick would never say that to him; he would just pretend it didn’t matter and try to give Morty his space—even if it took everything he had to keep from pawing Morty when he was practically begging him for it. Then again, Rick was always weak when it came to temptation.

"You want me to stay, even if I’m stupid," murmured Morty. “So I—I don’t care if you hurt me. I’m used to it. Ya know?”

With a blasé attitude, Rick ran his hand through Morty’s hair, undoing his bun in its passing. He loved Morty’s long, blond hair cascading over his shoulders, framing his bewitching face with its golden glow. “That just proves how stupid you really are.”

"When life gives you lemons, make lemonade," Morty said, his eyes sparkling.

"And when life gives you nothing but shit? What then, Morty?”

Morty shrugged. “You make do.”

Rick let Morty rest his head against his chest, and he caressed his back as frustration nagged at him. "You should eat," he repeated.

“I'm not hungry. I feel sleepy...”

“Then sleep.”

"Can I?" Morty asked in a small voice. “I mean...like this? Would you mind staying with me until I fall asleep?”

"If you want," rumbled the old man.

Morty closed his eyes and smiled, tightening his embrace. Rick brushed his cheek and frowned, painfully aware that he was becoming such a pushover.

He swore this kid would be the death of him. One day, Morty would make him do something he regretted.

 

Upon awakening, Rick felt a warm, small body against his, and he immediately tensed, trying to remember why he would possibly be sleeping next to someone. His first reflex was to draw back. Had he fallen asleep completely smashed, he would’ve lashed out on automatic—he always hated surprises. But, instead, here he was, sufficiently sober and waking up to the sight of his innocent grandson beside him.

His stomach began to growl, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything either after returning home last night. He glanced at the cold, shriveled dinner that had been left untouched on the beside table.

Morty's arms tightened around him.

“Hey. MoEURRRPty.”

"Hmm, nyumm," the boy mewled, cuddling closer. Morty’s small hands swept down his grandfather’s back, one of them brushing his buttocks, while the other wrapped around to rest on his crotch.

Rick shivered, and he whispered, “Tease.”

"Like you’re one to complain," Morty yawned before scooting down under the blankets.

Rick felt him undo his belt—after all, he’d fallen asleep fully dressed—then he heard the zipper of his fly being opened. “You want some cream for breakfast, Morty? That it? Well, grandpa’s got plenty for you," he rasped, running his tongue over his lips.

He gave a satisfied groan as the young man's mouth made contact with his skin. Rick grabbed his head from beneath the blankets as Morty gently sucked his balls to warm him up, his nose buried in his pubic hair. Then he slid his tongue along the underside of Rick's cock, moving up from the base to the glans. It felt incredible, and Rick couldn’t believe that of all the Ricks out there, he was the only one with such a sexy and devoted Morty who wanted nothing but his fat cock for breakfast.

Rick stroked Morty’s hair affectionately and closed his eyes to imagine his face, the expression he was making as he slowly sucked his cock between his tight, wet lips.

His little mouth was a furnace, silky smooth and welcoming. If he’d really wanted to, Rick could have forced Morty’s head down, made him deepthroat his cock. He knew that Morty would love it. After all, he liked it rough.

Nevertheless, he wasn’t so far gone as to actually act on his impulses. He couldn’t forget what had happened the day before, and part of him didn’t want to push Morty too far. He would let him go at his own pace. Besides, it felt good to wait, letting the tension build gradually in his lower abdomen as the young man quickened his pace up and down Rick’s stiff rod.

He would have liked to not have to worry about it, to be, as Morty had said, one of those Ricks who didn’t care about their Mortys. It would’ve made things a hell of a lot easier—and a lot less painful.

As he teetered just on the brink of orgasm, he suddenly ripped off the covers. Morty looked up in surprise and released Rick's cock from his mouth. A string of drool hung between it and his red lips.

Rick’s body seized, and he finally came. He rutted against Morty, making sure his spunk painted his adorable face. Morty moaned and greedily lapped it up, proud to put on a show for Rick, but he froze the moment he saw Rick's expression.

"What's the matter?" Morty asked timidly, wiping his chin with the back of his wrist.

The scientist sat up in bed and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Words had deserted him. "I got some in your hair, Morty," he said eventually.

"Oh, damn it!" Morty pouted, running his fingers down the damp locks to wipe them clean. “I guess I’ll just take a showe—”

Rick interrupted him, wrapping his arms around him in a tight squeeze. "Morty..." he murmured, his voice hoarse.

He didn’t know what to add to that. Rather than risk saying anything embarrassing, he opted to remain silent instead.

Morty blushed, ear pressed to Rick’s heart. "We can—we can do it, if you want to," he suggested hesitantly, his cheeks burning.

“Your parents might hear.”

"They're probably still sleeping, if they just got in last night," Morty retorted, grabbing his blue shirt. “Please. I want to...” He looped his thin arms around Rick's neck and kissed him. It wasn’t like their usual kisses. This one was sensual but at the same time chaste—almost something sacred, fragile.

A strange emotion sprung forth from Rick’s heart then, taking him by surprise. He pushed Morty down onto the bed—which was fortunately roomy enough for two—and answered Morty’s request with a passionate kiss he didn’t know he was capable of. His hands slid over Morty's pajamas, aroused by his curves, his delicate muscles, and the suppleness of his limbs.

"Y-you’re so..." Rick gasped. His eyes were glittering and intense, fully present in the moment, and, above all, sober.

"Rick," Morty whined, not even sure what he was begging for.

Rick attacked his neck, and the young man arched and moaned with pleasure, his small hands making quick work of Rick’s trousers. He wanted to make Rick hard again. He had to. He needed it _now_.

"Mortimer," Rick whispered against his skin.

Morty let out a wracked sob. How was it that Rick had such total control over him? All it took was a single word from Rick—his own name—and his whole being was aflame with desire. He was a slave to Rick’s skin, his smell, his kisses and caresses, his cock, his arms holding him tighter than ever, and his husky, baritone voice reminding him that he was loved. For the first and only time in his life, he really meant something to someone. And he knew this to be true, despite what he’d said the day before to Rick, back when he was angry and disgusted with everything.

Sometimes Rick treated him like trash, and other times he treated him like a treasure—like he was doing at this very moment. And, in all honesty, Morty wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

“Rick... Ah! P-p-please...” he gasped as he kissed Rick’s blue hair.

Rick nipped Morty’s neck, leaving a bruise and rousing a small cry from him, which he eagerly swallowed with another kiss. His hand snaked its way down Morty's pajama pants, gripping his cock to stroke him sensually. He was already rock hard against his own stomach, so Rick swiftly moved to undo the buttons, never ceasing his assault on Morty’s entreating lips.

Morty, meanwhile, continued to grind against Rick, demanding more attention between his thighs, but Rick refused to indulge him. A few deft touches to his cock would have had Morty coming prematurely, and while Rick prided himself on being the skillful master of Morty’s lust, he had other plans in mind. He wanted to take his time, wanted to prolong the fun for both of them. Besides, he loved making his grandson squirm and fidget, making those charming, little, frustrated cries.

Once he had done away with Morty's top, Rick straightened up to shuck off his own clothes until he was naked above him. He eyed the young man carefully, watching for any signs that the horrors of the day prior still haunted him. However, Morty only smiled and handed him a bottle of lube that he’d retrieved from the drawer of his bedside table.

Rick arched a sly eyebrow. “Cherry-scented? ReaAUURPlly, Morty?”

“Oh, lay off, Rick!" he grumbled, wriggling out of his pants and underwear.

His grandfather was quick to help him, and in the next minute, Morty was lying on his back with his legs wide, hands spreading his ass cheeks. Rick stared at him and swallowed.

"Come on." Morty’s seductive invitation had Rick salivating.

He narrowed his eyes and gave Morty’s behind a resounding smack. The teen giggled before he shuddered and tensed his cheeks, enticing Rick to hurt him more.

Rick didn’t hesitate to comply, and with a predatory grin, he delivered a few more hearty slaps with the open palm of his hand. A generous coating of lubricant cooled the now scarlet skin, and Rick massaged Morty’s small, round buttocks, stopping only to listen to his angelic moans of ecstasy.

Kissing him, Rick slowly eased a finger into Morty’s moist ass, then two. The tender muscles clenched around his knuckles, and he gave a guttural moan, imagining what they’d feel like around his cock instead.

Morty's skillful hands were restless, stroking over Rick’s sex, eager for its inevitable penetration, kneading his balls gently and weighing them with reverence.

"I want..." he whispered, his face red with longing.

Rick ghosted his lips across one cheek. “I know. Be patient.” He moved to his ear to add in a hoarse voice, “I’ll make it worth it.”

Rick continued working him with his fingers, stretching his entrance bit by bit. He kissed the young man's chest, pinching one of his nipples between his thumb and forefinger as he fought the urge to bite down on the other. He couldn’t risk getting carried away and hurting Morty. With desire threatening to drown out every shred of logic in him, it was hard enough concentrating on the task at hand as he kissed Morty’s satin-soft skin.

“Rick. Rick!” cried Morty, growing more impatient with every passing moment. His ass pulsated around Rick’s fingers as though trying to suck them in.

"I know, baby. I know," the old man crooned, reaching up to rest his palm over Morty’s blue pearl navel piercing. He sat up, slowly withdrawing his fingers. When Morty squealed in distress, Rick kissed him on the temple. “It’s all right, my treasure. I'm right here. I’m finally going to give it to you, Morty. I'll fuck you right, just like you deserve, baby.”

"Rick," the young man repeated desperately, wrapping his arms and legs around him.

Lying face to face with Rick in a bed was so rare for the two of them, that it gave Morty reason for pause. He felt awash in an emotion that was equal parts romance and embarrassment.

Rick slid his cock over the lubed hole a few times before finally planting the head against the opening and slowly pushing his way in. Morty sighed at the feeling of being filled. This was what he’d wanted all along.

But Rick wasn’t about to let him enjoy it in peace.

"You like that, Morty? You like my big, fat cock in your little ass? Hm?”

“Rick! Shut up!”

Rick’s laughter vibrated through his chest. “You were made for this, Morty. You were made to squirm on the end of my cock. You love taking it, and I love giving it to you. So,” he paused to grunt, “you don’t have to look for it anywhere else.”

Before the boy could reply—a reply that Rick feared might contradict him—he began to fuck him like a jackhammer. Morty cried out, his eyes rolling back, and he clung to his lover to match his pace. “Ah! Aaaah, Rick! Rick! RICK! AAAAAH!”

"Jesus. Why do you have to cum so fast?" Rick complained, slowing down.

“I can't help it. You...you fuck me...so good,” Morty stammered as he ran his fingers over his seed-spattered belly.

"And I'm not done yet," Rick smirked, resuming his rhythm.

"Ah! No, Rick...ah! AH! I-I-I-I can’t t-take any mooore! Ahn!" cried the young man.

“Morty, fuck! MORTIMER!” Rick roared as he ejaculated.

Morty's body seized from head to toe as he felt his grandfather’s hot cum flood his insides. It was undeniable proof that Morty had satisfied him, and that thought alone was enough to drive Morty over the edge again. He was still young, after all. He let loose another load with a strangled cry, while Rick continued to empty his balls into his ass, filling his cavity with thick, liquid heat.

Morty lived for that feeling of contentment, of completeness that came post-orgasm, when everything was simple and perfect. When this man filled his ass with all he had, it relieved Morty of all the insufferable pressures that made him feel so awkward and stupid. It helped him to forget, even for a moment, that he was only a speck of dust in the universe.

Morty wanted to be the star around which Rick gravitated.

Suddenly, shouting erupted from the hallway. The two lovers froze, tensing with dread as they looked to the door, the only thing separating them from Morty's quarreling parents.

Jerry’s voice came first. "I’m just saying it’s not normal to let our son work in a strip club!”

"It's an exotic dance club!” Beth argued back indignantly.

"Oh, please! Don’t try to sugarcoat it with euphemisms. Do you see the way he dresses?”

"I don’t want to talk about this right now."

"You never want to talk about it!"

"Because every time we bring it up, it ends like this!"

"It wouldn’t have to if you actually took the time to listen!"

"You’re the who doesn’t listen! Sure, I don’t approve of his taste in clothes...but he’s not a child anymore, Jerry. It's normal that he's looking for—"

"Oh, my god," Morty groaned, hiding his eyes behind his arm.

Rick pulled him close for a kiss as the voices moved away. Fortunately, it was a large house, and Morty’s parents were too absorbed in their own spat to think about them. It was a good thing too, because they were the last people Rick wanted to see right now. In fact, he didn’t want to see anyone, because the only person he needed was already with him. 

"Hey, baby. What do you say to a second round in the hot tub?" Rick rubbed his nose in Morty’s blond hair to ease his frazzled nerves.

"You’re ready to go again?" Morty asked, astonished.

“I’m always good to go. You just wouldn’t be able to keep up if I—UUURP—jumped you as much as I wanted to.”

"You're one to talk," Morty laughed. “You old geezer.”

“Says the premature ejaculator!”

“Oh, that’s a low blow, Rick! You know i-it's not my fault!”

"Then whose fault is it?" Rick challenged, smiling.

"Yours," muttered Morty. “I can’t control myself when I’m with you.”

“Yeah. Not when I destroy your sweet—URP—little ass.”

Morty blushed pink as a peony. “Touché.” He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away. “I like this. With you, I mean. And...I also like it with others. But with you, it's different.”

Rick kissed his ear, licking along the curve of his lobe with the tip of his tongue. "How is it different, Mouuurghrty?"

The young man shuddered. Rick's half-hard cock was still inside him, and he could feel it swelling fatter, even though he’d just cum minutes earlier. “It's—it's better. M-m-more intense.”

Now there was no doubt that Rick was getting hard again. When he pushed further in, a squelching sound, accompanied by a trickle of cum, leaked from his hole. Morty tensed his muscles suddenly, drawing a hoarse moan from Rick. "It's because you're mine, Moeuuuurghty," he snarled, pinning him with his gaze. “You can fuck whoever or whatever you want, but it won’t change that fact.”

Morty squealed and arched off the bed as Rick thrust sharply into him, triggering jolts of arousal that popped like fireworks through his groin.

Rick spread his blond hair over the pillow and devoured his expression with his eyes. "And that—that goes both ways," he growled. “You’re the only one I want, Mortimer.”

He nuzzled his face into the crook of Morty's neck as his second orgasm crashed over him. With his cock buried up to the hilt, Rick propped himself over Morty, careful not to crush the small boy. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Morty’s chest.

"I...I love you so much!" Morty huffed between gasps.

Rick wrapped Morty in a tight embrace, and Morty clutched him back as he heard Rick’s whispered reply. He choked out a laugh and squeezed Rick with all his strength.

 

Later that morning, they ate a late breakfast in the living room, reclining casually on the sofa while _Ball Fondlers_ played on the giant, wall-mounted plasma TV. Morty lay with his head on his grandfather’s lap, sipping a bottle of champagne through a straw. Rick, meanwhile, played with the twin rows of braids on Morty’s head with his thin digits.

"By the way, whatever happened to that guy in the trunk?” Morty asked suddenly.

"He’s in the basement," Rick answered flatly, turning away from the screen. “I thought a—a little torture might loosen his tongue up a bit, get the name of whoever it was that kidnapped you—or ordered it. Or whatever. Same thing. Now, quit interrupting, Morty. You’re ruining the show!” He took a sip from his flask before slipping it back inside his pink pastel jacket. “I can’t stand people touching my—UURP—business.”

“Business? Do you mean me?” Morty brushed his hand over Rick's knee.

Rick only flashed his yellowed teeth in a menacing grin, eyes still riveted on the TV where Attila and Benjamin were currently facing Nazi insectoid soldiers while Fulgora and Loggins fought off mercenary robots.

“Those idiots don’t know—URP—who they’re dealing with, but they’re about to find out. And it’s gonna be one painful lesson.”

Morty smiled and snuggled deeper into Rick’s lap, purring happily. Like that, the two continued watching television, ignoring the shouting match between Jerry and Beth as they argued outside in the jacuzzi.

**Author's Note:**

> [futagogo](http://twitter.com/futagogo)  
>  Part 3 coming soon!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Trapped in Miami](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9659447) by [AndersAndrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndersAndrew/pseuds/AndersAndrew), [futagogo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/futagogo/pseuds/futagogo)




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